


stride like the sun into the middle sky

by AwayLaughing



Series: Arafinwean Week 2019 [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arafinwean Week 2019, Caves, Exploration, Gen, Prophetic Visions, Spelunking, Valinor, Years of the Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 15:16:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19832896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwayLaughing/pseuds/AwayLaughing
Summary: Turgon and Finrod, and an afternoon's explorations, during the long summer of Aman.





	stride like the sun into the middle sky

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again Arafinweans! Day 2~

It was a very rare thing that Findaráto could get Turukáno to come scale mountains with him. It was rarer still that he could convince him to tie a rope about his middle and drop down a crevice that lead, potentially, nowhere. As Findaráto had done both, he was today in especially good spirits. As such, he did not bat so much as an eye at Turukáno’s grousing though, admittedly, he rarely did anyway.

“You are going to get us killed,” Turukáno said as they dangled over a height. The ropes, thankfully, were long because as it turned out how crevice did not lead nowhere. It lead to an unknown somewhere, an estimated three metres down. “The only good thing is, no one will no how or even where to find our bodies, so we won’t be known as the only elves in Valinor to die of stupidity.”

“Not true!” Findaráto said, grinning up at his dour cousin. “There’s an elf in Valmar who fell off the curtain wall and died.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s something they tell children just so they don’t go up unattended,” Turukáno said.

“Nope. His name is Etlalo, he said he was drunk, and so he was only in the halls for 15 years. He doesn’t drink spirits anymore, and his daughter gets terribly embarrassed whenever he tells the story, which he actually quite likes to do.”

“You’re joking,” Turukáno said. “You can’t tell me a man is named laughter and expect me to not catch the joke.”

“I’m not! After this, I’ll take you to see him. His daughter’s a friend of aunt Findis so you know _she_ at least wouldn’t tell a joke.”

Turukáno laughed, and then cut himself off like he did when he thought he shouldn’t find something funny. Findaráto looked up, grinning the dim light. “She’s not so dour, you know,” Turukáno said, ever loyal. “And these ropes aren’t long enough to reach the bottom.”

Findaráto looked down, and considered. What Turukáno said was true – but what was also true was that he said it in the most pessimistic way possible. “But it’s close enough we can probably jump and reach them on the way back,” he said, and set to untying himself. It took a bit of acrobatics not to immediately fall, but he managed, so that he could lower himself down to the near-end of the rope, and then simply drop. “Tada,” Findaráto said, taking a bow. “See, not dead!”

“Well, there’s quite a bit of cave to go,” Turukáno said as he lowered himself down, “not to mention getting back up.” As he spoke he landed, which meant Findaráto could reach forward and punch his shoulder.

“You always see the worst in things,” Findaráto said.

“Well someone has to be practical,” Turukáno said. And then, because Findaráto knew ‘secretly’ he was just as curious, he tugged on Findaráto’s sleeve. “Now let’s go.” Their crevice above travelled for abouth five meters before the light was blocked. Only a few metres after the tunnel split.

“I’ll take the left, you take the right?” Findaráto offered, and then quickly dashed down his self-assigned tunnel before Turukáno could argue. There was still a shout of disapproval, but that hardly mattered. A moment later he heard Turukáno moving, and so he cheerfully set about seeing what there was to see.

What there was to see was, as it turned out, not much. Nothing, some might even say. His tunnel didn’t go far, and it ended very abruptly in solid rock face, preceded by a series of stalagmites that emerged from shallow water, which must have been coming from below as the rock around him was dry. Heading back, he whistled a tune, more to let Turukáno know he was alright and approaching than anything.

“Findo, that better be you. Come here,” Turukáno’s voice echoed oddly in the twining space, but he clearly wasn’t far. Turukáno’s tunnel was longer, and branched off at one point so Findaráto just followed his good judgment, which told him that Turukáno would stay the course. His good sense, contested by Turukáno or not, proved the right choice, as soon he found his cousin at the mouth of an opening, overlooking something, if the way he was looking down was any tell. “It’s amazing,” Turukáno said.

“Well let me see before you start rhapsodizing,” Findaráto said. Turukáno snorted.

“ _You_ rhapsodize, not I,” he said. Findaráto planned to respond, but his words caught in his throat, because below him was a city.

It was like nothing he’d ever seen before. The great hollow space they looked upon was some form of courtyard. All around them the city was carved into the stone-face overlooking it. The forms were oddly alien to the eye while also intimately familiar. The ceiling, he was delighted to note, had been filled with something that glowed like the stars. Outside, on just the other side of the far wall, past the carven apartments and streets, he somehow knew would be a river. A river which spanned a land of hills and trees and life, fleeting and beautiful but ever haried by-

“I guess this wasn’t totally pointless,” Turukáno said, sending the thought scattering like dandelion seeds in the wind.

“How has no one ever spoken of this before,” Findaráto asked, astonishment and aching in his voice, the city still holding his vision.

“Well I suppose no one knows about it,” Turukáno said, sounding awfully frank given the circumstances, though he was never one for awe really.

“How can they not?” he demanded.

“Oh come now, it’s not that impressive,” Turukáno’s words were dismissive, though his tone sounded thoughtful, and Findaráto finally found it himself to tear his eyes away from the starting city to look at him in incredulity.

_N_ ot _that imp_ r _essive?_ He wanted to ask, frankly now alarmed.

Turukáno didn’t notice, chewing on his cheek as he peered out. “I suppose Aulë must, it is a rather lot of ore to go unnoticed even by the lord of Smithing,” he added.

“A lot of-” confused, Findaráto turned back, and found the city had disappeared. The cavern was still there, but smaller and glittering not with strange light and elf-made stars, but dully studded with some metal or other. For a moment the loss of that vision was nearly crippling, like some part of him had been roughly hewn from its source. He swallowed the feeling and said, “do you think it’s mithril or just silver?”

“Just silver, as if silver isn’t a perfectly wonderful metal in its own right,” Turukáno said.

“Well I don’t know, neither you nor I are the most ardent smiths in our respective families, but I remember when Aulë allowed some people access to a mithril vein and everyone went absolutely mad.”

“You mean Fëanáro went absolutely mad,” Turukáno said, derision obvious. Findaráto opted to ignore it. “But I reckon mithril would shine even as an ore, this is probably something else.”

“I suppose so,” Findaráto, who could not summon any feelings of disappointment, nor opinions one way or the other.

“Findo?” Turukáno said, hand coming to his shoulder. “Are you well?”

“Yes just – just an Artë moment,” he said, smiling. Turukáno frowned.

“Do you want to leave?”

Findaráto felt a rush of warmth at that, enough to dislodge his uncanny sadness. Oh, how could he be sad when Turukáno’s beloved facing was staring at him like a concerned aunt. “Leave? We’ve barely started cousin!”

Turukáno sighed. “Worth a shot,” he said. “If we jump, do you think we can get back up?”

“Probably,” Findaráto said.

“Probably,” Turukáno said in tones of disgust. And then, easy as you please, dropped himself down. Findaráto followed him, laughing and unconcerned.

**Author's Note:**

> " just an Artë moment" - Artë is Artanis, and of course Finrod is referencing her renowned foresight.
> 
> Title shamelessly cribbed from Edna St. Vincent' Millay's "Epitaph for the Race of Man" which, name aside, does give me some Rise and Fall of the Elves feels, let me tell you. I actually wrote two stories for this - but one did not feature Finrod at all (though I maintain that at least, ostensibly, it was about him still), so I held it back for when I could write more of the preceding context.
> 
> And I know they say Finrod got his inspiration from Menegroth, but I like me some prophetic visions, what can I say.


End file.
